


Cookies and Home

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Cookies, Cooking, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16835761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: Jason’s first morning in the Manor.





	Cookies and Home

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to the Fantastic Spectra-Electra! I hope you like it!

Jason didn’t really know what to think of Wayne Manor. It was just so big.

The room Wayne had given him was gigantic. And ridiculously fancy. The carpet was soft and plushy, a gentle cream color without any stains at all. The bed was huge, comfy and soft with a thick crimson quilt and more pillows than he had ever seen in his life. The sheets were fresh and soft, like the ones back at his old apartment had been when they were brand new and just out of the laundry. There was a large book case made out of oak on one wall, which was gloomily empty. Jason wondered if Wayne would keep him around long enough for that to change.

Probably not, Jason decided, poking around in the closet. Wayne probably just needed to get his trust for… something. Then he’d be back on the streets, but he’d owe the Bat, so the big guy could have somebody to call up for favors and news. He wondered if this happened a lot.

There was a window opposite the bed, which looked out on the fancy-looking Manor grounds. There was a tree nearby, a gigantic maple that would probably look really pretty in the fall. A swing, old and decrepit, hung from it. He wondered when it had last been used.

The closet, which was bigger than the bathroom in his old apartment, had mirrored doors that led into the big empty space. Pennyworth, Wayne’s butler, had scrounged up a few clothes to put in there, but a few sweaters and jeans didn’t exactly fill the cavern of a closet.

Everything in the house was so huge. Jason felt incredibly small, which he hated. He wasn’t small or weak. He could look after himself. He didn’t need the Big Bad Bat or his fucking charity or his…

The smell of baking cookies wafted into his room, making his stomach growl.

Jason froze, face twisting. He hadn’t eaten properly (stolen candy bars and a half-bag of potato chips didn’t really count) since… two days ago, when he’d managed to scrounge enough money for a Big Mac and a thing of fries at the McDonalds closest to Crime Alley.

Jason was used to hunger. All the Crime Alley kids were. Hunger was a constant. It gnawed at the stomach, begging to be fed by anything, chips or chocolate or fruit or meat or anything. Jason could barely remember the last time he hadn’t been hungry at least somewhat.

Jason swallowed. He didn’t want Wayne’s charity, he reminded himself. He didn’t need it. He could look after himself.

He kept searching the room, looking for something to do. Maybe there was a book hidden around somewhere. It had been ages since he’d been able to read anything longer than a newspaper article.

Jason had been eight when his mother died, that cold night, when he’d come home with her “medicine” only to find her cold and dead on the floor, eyes wide open and mouth agape. He was ten now, and all he had left of her was a small photograph that he carried. Her jewelry had gone first, sold to pay for her drugs. Then it had been the books, traded to the tired looking Mexican Matriarch down the hall in exchange for a week of meals with her family. Then it was the furniture, traded to the land lord to keep the heat on for a handful of days. Then everything was gone, the money was spent, and the only home Jason had was the streets and whichever place he was squatting in that week.

He suspected this place was no different. Just a place to squat in, until people realized he didn’t belong there.

Jason rooted through the drawers of the fancy looking chest of drawers, finding nothing in them. Whoever had lived in the room before Jason’s temporary stay must have cleaned it out thoroughly. Or maybe Pennyworth had cleaned it out.

Jason, having searched the entire room, flopped on the bed. The wood of the headboard matched the chest of drawers and the bookcase, which kind of struck him as incredibly snooty. The curtains matched the quilt, like Mom had always wanted. A pang of guilt washed over him. Mom would have loved it here.

There was a knock on the door. Jason sat upright, reaching for a knife that he didn’t have anymore, because Bruce “Fucker” Wayne had taken it from him.

Pennyworth, wearing a suit and looking like Jeeves himself, stepped into the room. His eyes darted around the room (probably making sure that Jason hadn’t stolen or destroyed anything, Jason thought darkly) and then settled on Jason.

“Good morning,” Pennyworth said, all British and proper like on of the characters in Mom’s movies. Her favorite had been Pride and Prejudice. Jason was pretty sure he knew the whole movie by heart, line-for-line. He’d spent many a night curled up on the couch with Mom, eating microwave popcorn and curled up under their softest, nicest blankets.

“Morning,” Jason said, biting down on any and all references he wanted to make. He didn’t want charity, didn’t want help, didn’t want anything… but he was really fucking hungry, and he was pretty sure that Pennyworth, not Wayne, controlled the food in this place.

“Master Jason,” the man said, voice oddly gentle. Jason tried not to laugh at being called ‘Master’, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d suceeded. “I was wondering if you would care to join me for lunch. Master Bruce had a meeting with Mister Lucius Fox, so it would just be the two of us.”

Jason blinked. “Um. Sure? Thanks.”

The kitchen was pleasant. It felt far less empty than the rest of the Manor, which had a kind of haunted, echoey feel, and smelled fantastic. Jason breathed in, inhaling the scent of chocolate chip cookies and spaghetti sauce and melting butter and tried not to drool. 

“Wash your hands please, Master Jason,” Pennyworth said, moving to one of the large mahogany cupboards and removing two china plates from its depths.

Jason walked over to the sink, which was expensive, well cleaned stainless steel embedded in fancy marble counters, like the ones in magazines. He vaguely remembered his dad, on one of his good days, flipping through one of those magazines and declaring that one day, he’d buy one for Mom. Mom had laughed and kissed him on the cheek, and said that if they had that much money, she’d prefer to leave Gotham, thankyouverymuch.

Jason washed his hands, while Pennyworth served up two plates of pasta and red sauce. The smell made Jason’s stomach growl so loudly that he was pretty sure it could be heard back in Crime Alley. Pennyworth smiled at him kindly, and gestured for him to sit down.

The food was heavenly. The sauce was rich and the ground beef in it was seasoned just right and browned and there were onions, sauteed and golden, although it was hard to tell with the tomato. The spaghetti was perfectly cooked, with just the right amount of salt and with just the right texture. Jason inhaled it, not even glancing at the cheese that Pennyworth had set on the table. It had been so long since Jason had had pasta that wasn’t cheap ramen in a microwave.

Pennyworth offered seconds. Jason ate that as well, although this time he did try the Parmesan.

The British man raised his eyebrow at Jason as the boy wolfed down his food. “Do leave some room for desert, Master Jason. I would hate for the chocolate chip cookies to go to waste.”

Jason looked up, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. He ducked his face down, realizing just how fast he had been eating, and how shitty his manners had probably been too. His mom would have been furious at him. “Thanks, Mister Pennyworth,” he muttered, hoping his ears weren’t red.

“Please, Master Jason. Call me Alfred.” The man said, patting Jason’s hand. “Now, I do believe that there is a carton of milk in the refrigerator. Would you be so good as to fetch it, while I prepare the cookies?”

“Uh, sure,” Jason said, grateful for the reprieve. He got to his feet and located the gigantic fridge, which was made of the same metal as the sink (Jeeze, what was with this house and everything matching?). There was indeed a carton of milk. Actually, there were a dozen. There were only two people in the house. Why was so much milk?

But Jason dutifully grabbed the one with the closest expiration date and brought it out. Pennyworth–Alfred, that is–had already arranged cookies on a fancy porcelain plate, with small birds in a pattern around the edge. A closer look revealed them to be robins. Jason couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Alfred smiled, obviously knowing what the source of his amusement was. “Help yourself, Master Jason,” the man said serenely, pouring two glasses of milk and taking a cookie into one hand.

Jason hadn’t had chocolate chip cookies since before Mom got sick. These weren’t the same, the ingredients were much better, but there was still the same feeling that Jason got from them. They tasted…

They tasted like home.


End file.
